Reluctant Allies
by The Poison Quill
Summary: The world feels as if it's closing in on him as Draco Malfoy begins to doubt his true loyalties. Unable to follow through with his orders but too fearful to change sides, Draco is alone, afraid, and increasingly on edge.
1. Chapter 1

_**Reluctant Allies**_

_**Chapter One**_

Primarily they ignored one another. That is, when they were in their shared common room together they did. In public (meaning in front of the faculty) they maintained a cold and reluctant tolerance; civility being too polite a term. They did their duties speaking as little as possible, though glares and other such looks of mutual contempt were frequent. In the corridors away from the watchful eyes of the teachers, however, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy didn't hold back. Curses, insults, sneers, taunts, even the occasional physical violence was the norm. Nothing was off-limits.

Yes, Hermione did try not to rise to his bating, but that was largely to keep Harry and Ron out of detention. The Slytherin wouldn't hesitate to tattle on the two Gryffindor boys but when it came to the Head Girl, Draco's hands were tied. Anything that happened between the two of them stayed between them, else McGonagall would strip them both of their positions. They'd been warned many times before; one more incident and new Head Students would be chosen; the Headmistress had made that very clear.

As neither wanted to give up their positions of power, they never involved teachers in their little contretemps, nor did they make use of the Hospital Wing if they could help it. It would raise too many questions.

In the Head Common room however, there was an unspoken truce of sorts. They didn't speak to one another, touch one another's things, or even look at one another if they could help it. Oh, it was clear that they loathed each others' presences, but she ignored the angry vein that popped out of his temple when in the same room, and he pretended not to notice how tightly she clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to grind her teeth.

Both kept their wands at the ready in case the tenuous pact collapsed.

Without having spoken about it, they worked out a sort of schedule. Despite them both being early risers, he would stay in his room, letting her work in the common room. He wouldn't come out of his bedchamber until she left for breakfast. Similarly, Hermione made herself scarce in the evenings after classes, spending time either in the library or Gryffindor common room, giving Draco time to himself.

This arrangement of mutual benefit wasn't out of courtesy but necessity. They only way they could cohabit was to pretend that they didn't, else they'd get themselves thrown in Azkaban, or worse, expelled (in Hermione's opinion, of course.) Any quarrels they'd had throughout the day were left at the door in order to preserve the fragile peace of their inner sanctum.

Actually, it would be a mistake to call it 'peace' however fragile.

Silence wasn't peace.

But these days it was as close as anyone got.

_**.**_

The portrait hole swung shut with a resounding _bang._

Draco visibly stiffened, his quill poised over his essay, face contorting in a grimace at the intrusion. It was early evening, _his time _she knew,but he didn't say anything. Hermione didn't linger though. Still breathless from her race from Gryffindor Tower, she crossed the room as quickly as she could, eager to get out of his way. She closed her bedroom door behind her, setting up the usual wards for privacy and protection with many habitual but expert flourishes of her wand.

Only when she was certain of being securely inside did she allow herself to catch her breath, and really think about what she'd just learned. Or rather, what she'd just come to realise.

Breathing out in a long hiss, she let her bag fall to the floor, slowly sliding down to join it, still clutching _**Tales of Beedle the Bard**_ to her chest.

_Professor Dumbledore was dying_.

It was almost impossible to believe, but she'd seen his burnt black hand, knew the curse, knew what it meant. The Headmaster had all but confirmed it to Harry just now, tacitly conveying that he wouldn't around forever to help Harry with the Horcruxes. It accounted for his odd behaviour. Odder than usual behaviour, rather. How were they supposed to find and destroy the remaining hocruxes without the Headmaster? How would they face Voldemort? How could the body of the Order act without its head?

Perhaps there was something she hadn't noticed, some crucial clue that she was missing, some information that meant that she was entirely wrong in her conclusion. She wouldn't mind being wrong, just this once. She would welcome the error of her logic if it meant that Dumbledore would remain to help them, not abandon them in this quagmire of desperate confusion.

It wasn't that she didn't believe in Harry… it was just that… well… his chances weren't as promising without the Headmaster.

'Don't panic. Think calmly, and rationally,' she told herself, taking deep steadying breaths. There was no point in hyperventilating on the floor of her bedroom.

She wasn't sure if Harry and Ron actually _understood_ the implications of what they'd just discussed. Harry had seemed upset, true, but that was par for the course these days. Neither of them outright mentioned Dumbledore dying, so perhaps they hadn't come to the same conclusion.

Perhaps she was completely overreacting.

'_Please let me be overreacting.' _

Deep breaths.

In.

Out.

Perhaps she ought to return to the boys, confirm or quash her suspicions. Or perhaps she might be better off in the library.

Well, she wouldn't leave now, in any case. She'd wait until Draco turned in. As Head Girl she could be out after curfew, though she really oughtn't, not to the library anyway. It would be closed. The boys wouldn't mind her returning. Perhaps it was better she didn't go now after all. Give her time to think. Perhaps do her homework for a few hours to clear her head, marshal her thoughts, get her thinking logically.

_**.**_

The fire in the hearth had long since gone out. Only a sliver of moonlight slashed across the room, giving her only enough light to avoid the greater pieces of furniture. With a careful flick, she lit a single candle on the mantle, the better to navigate her way out of the common room.

It was nearing two in the morning, but she didn't think the boys would chide her for coming at such an hour. As there was an extra bed in the boys' dormitory since Dean hadn't come back that year, she'd spent many a late night there. In truth, she slept much easier in Gryffindor tower than she did in her own bedroom. For obvious reasons…

She turned to face to the closed door that led to Malfoy's room and listened carefully.

Nothing.

Holding her breath, she continued tiptoeing, careful not do anything that might wake him.

She'd just reached the portrait hole when it swung open with a _whoosh!_

Panic pounded through her ears but she didn't cry out. Couldn't. She was too shocked to see Malfoy standing in front of her, white-faced and looking as if he was just as startled as she was.

It didn't take long for either of them to regain their senses. In a flash they both had their wands out, pointing at the other's throat.

Perhaps it was a bit childish to be so on edge simply because they'd startled on another in the dark. Had it been any other time of day they wouldn't have reacted like this, not in their own common room anyway. But no, it wasn't childish fear, it was like deduction, bordering on instinct. Knowing that neither of them had a legitimate reason for being abroad at that hour; knowing there was no possible innocent explanation for either of them and therefore their motives couldn't be trusted.

The portrait hole still gaped open, letting in a draught. If any ghost floated passed or a portrait strolled through neighbouring paintings of landscapes, she and Draco would be observed, poised for a duel. Instant loss of Head Girl and Boy status.

"_I'll lower mine if you lower yours,_" she whispered.

He swallowed visibly, clutching his wand tighter he quickly looked behind him into the corridor. Hermione could actually see the whiteness of his knuckles, so close they were to her face.

_ Terrified_, Hermione realised in an instant. The boy was utterly terrified. The question was… of what, though? He hadn't been running from a basilisk, of that she was certain, but was there some other menace in the corridor from which he'd been fleeing?

"Is something out there?" she asked hesitantly.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath noisy and strained. Otherwise she got no response. She wanted to peak out into the corridor to have a look for herself but she didn't dare take her eyes off Malfoy or his wand for a second. _He _did though. His eyes kept darting back over his shoulder. Hermione didn't know if she ought to be afraid or affronted by his lapse of attention.

Slowly, very slowly, he stepped sideways, keeping his wand trained on her. Like two strange cats sighting one another for the first time they moved hesitantly, keeping distance but always poised and ready to spring… either to flee or fight.

They circled one another until they'd swapped positions. Her back was now to the corridor and his to the rest of their living quarters.

He took a few steps back, still moving ever so slowly, as if she were a serpent that might strike at any sudden movement. Ironic, as he was the Slytherin.

His breathing had evened out somewhat, though his eyes still flickered past her out into the corridor.

Hermione stepped aside, closing the portrait. Whatever it was had been effectively blocked off; no one could get in without the password.

"You're alright now," she assured him, though it was half a question. Not that she should care, as he'd been nothing but a prat to her since day one, but she knew that _she _wouldn't be able to calm down until he did. It was just unnerving to see anyone that distressed. Fear, tension, panic… it was catching. And she was much affected.

She thought he nodded almost imperceptibly, though it may have been the flicker of the candlelight. In any case, he took longer and faster strides to his room, no doubt blockading himself in once he'd closed the door behind him.

If she were being honest, seeing him like that bothered her more than a trifle. If it had been Harry, Ron, Ginny, or practically anyone but Malfoy she could have comforted them, asked what was wrong. As it _was_ Malfoy she was left only with the nagging uncertainty and unease.

She hadn't asked him if it was safe to go out there. Of course, if it wasn't, he'd have said it was so she'd get caught up in the danger. If the coast _was _clear, he'd have said it wasn't so as to thwart her plans and keep her inside. Either way, she'd have done the opposite of what he said.

Except she didn't get an answer at all from him so she didn't know what to do. Not knowing was always the worst. She _hated _not knowing. Anything was bearable so long as you knew what you were up against.

In the end she went back to her own room, and for the first time went to sleep thinking about Draco Malfoy. She couldn't get him out of her head; his ashen face, his white knuckles, his wild and fearful eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

_He knew. _

Or he suspected at least, Draco was sure of it. Snape suspected the truth; why else would he confront Draco about his task like that?

_What would he do?_ Turn him in to the Dark Lord? Why hadn't he already?

Draco swallowed; sighed; hung his head; combed his fingers through his hair.

_Merlin_, he was a wreck.

Help? Draco didn't believe, couldn't be sure, that Snape actually wanted to 'help' him. It was probably a test. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone about his mission.

Well, he hadn't said anything, as per his orders. Perhaps that would buy him some time but he still couldn't shake the feeling that Snape _knew_. He _always_ knew. Draco hadn't been able to look his potions teacher in the eyes for weeks.

_What the fuck was he supposed to do?_

"For fuck's sake," he said, wiping away a tear, disgusted with himself. Turning into a Nancy-boy wasn't going to help him in the slightest. However, he didn't see any _other_ course of action helping him either. He was completely fucked. One didn't simply tell the most powerful wizard of the age that one doesn't want to obey him anymore. Not if one wanted to live, at any rate.

"I'm dead," he whispered to no one.

He didn't want to die; didn't want to be a Death Eater any longer and didn't want to disappoint his family. Unfortunately, those things seemed to be mutually exclusive.

Draco and always been a good son. He did everything his father wanted and expected of him.

_Had Lucius ever killed anyone?_ Draco wasn't sure.

Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as he imagined. Perhaps the nausea he felt just _thinking_ about pointing his wand at the Headmaster would go away. Yes, he was called 'the old fool' by many but Draco didn't think he was fool enough to get assassinated. If he were he'd be dead already, surely?

He'd end up in Azkaban for sure just for trying.

Draco sat up straighter at the thought. _There_ was an idea. Get caught for _attempted_ murder and go to prison. He wouldn't have actually killed anyone and he'd be put away for being a Death Eater. And there he'd be safe. He wouldn't have to do anything horrible anymore. Wouldn't have to see Snape every day. Wouldn't have to endlessly worry about his actions being constantly scrutinised: if they were adequately "Slytherin." He didn't know who in his house was spying on him, reporting back to their parents if he was being a dutiful Death Eater. Crabbe and Goyle were, certainly. Well, Goyle, at least. Draco wasn't entirely convinced Crabbe was competent enough to conduct a quill from one side of a page to another but he definitely felt Vince's eyes on him all the time. Others' too.

They had all looked up to him so much. Now he was elevated it seemed as if they were just waiting for him to fall. Like his father had…

Draco's aunt and uncle had been put in Azkaban before. They had seen it as a sort of honour to go to prison in the service of the Dark Lord.

Draco sighed, rubbing his palm along his cheek and across to his forehead in one clumsy movement. You know you're in a sorry state when you're looking _forward_ to prison.

But what would his mother think?

.

Was it already morning? He could hear Granger in the common room, the sound of shuffling parchment and pages of books being turned. He'd become accustomed to it, it was the sound he associated with the start of the day.

He hadn't slept a bit all night. Judging by his reflection in the mirror he looked it too. A few glamours were in order, though he didn't want to go to class, didn't want to put on another performance. Thankfully, however, he didn't have potions today so at least he could avoid Snape. He was too tired to deal with him. Too tired to deal with anyone but he knew he couldn't _appear_ tired because then it might seem that he wasn't holding up, that he wasn't able to shoulder his responsibilities, that he was cracking under pressure.

Which he was, but he wasn't about to let anyone _else_ know that.

He growled, remembering the scene with Granger the night before. So _she _knew, but he doubted she'd be owling the Dark Lord to tattle.

Though she _would_ tell Potter and the Weasel. Stupid mudblood. He wished she'd move back into Gryffindor Tower so he could have at least _one_ place on the planet he didn't have to be on his guard. He'd like to be able to relax in front of his own fire, but he couldn't, knowing that at any moment the golden girl might stomp in. Potter's personal think-tank. Actually, living with the mudblood was probably worse than living with Potter himself; Scarhead was too stupid to notice anything. Granger on the other hand… he didn't know what kind of conclusions she could reach, what kind of things she could learn just from observing him. She'd be on the scent like a hound if he slipped up.

Which is precisely what he'd done last night.

_Damnitall._

.

He expected the taunts to start immediately following breakfast, but neither Potter nor Weasley so much as alluded to his late night panic attack in front of Granger. She looked him in the eyes once before first class but didn't say anything. No fights this morning, it seemed. Just as well, as he doubted he had the energy. On the other hand, if he were incapacitated in the Hospital Week for a month, it would give him more time to figure out how (or how not) to kill Professor Dumbledore.

_Bollocks!_

His mind had been wandering again, resulting in a sloppy transfiguration. He held his breath, waiting for McGonagall to criticise him aloud, but she merely pressed her lips together and raised her brows.

He let out a sigh, grateful for the silent admonishment rather than a verbal rebuke that might catch the attention of others. Concentrating this time, he tried again and was successful. He attempted to catch the professor's eye to show her he'd got it right, but she was busy looking at other students. Too late. He'd already blown it for the day. He was slipping. He was too tired and too stressed and it was beginning to show. He _had_ to get a hold of himself; he couldn't afford any slip-ups.

.

Arithmancy was a small class, one in which he didn't have to suffer through Potter's presence. Though Granger was still there. He glared at the back of her head.

Granger was always there. Every class. Every meal. In his living quarters. There was no escaping her.

She must have sensed him glowering, for she turned around and met his gaze.

Wait. Was that pity? No, surely not. There was no way a lowly mudblood could _pity_ a pureblood. Malfoys weren't pitiable. Maybe it had been uncertainty he'd read in her face. Yes. That must be it, she was uncertain after last night. Perhaps she was a bit more nervous around him after the previous evening's incident. He hoped so. He hoped she would scamper back to her tower and leave him in peace. Let her think he was dangerous and unhinged. He was. Thought not dangerous or unhinged enough to do murder. Here he'd been afraid of going mad. Perhaps the problem was that he wasn't mad _enough._

When class let out he gathered up his things and strode purposefully to the door. At least, he hoped that it looked purposeful instead of desperate haste to get out of the castle corridors and back into his room. Perhaps he'd skip dinner, avoid the Great Hall altogether. Or would that be too obvious?

He was just out the door when he heard her speak.

"You look ill."

He turned to face Granger, studying her suspiciously. No concern. No contmpt. It was a clinical observation. For some reason that bothered him even more.

The other students filed past quickly, having learned not to stand between or near himself and Granger in the hallways. Crossfire.

Draco grunted, folding his arms over his chest. He could tell by her face that she'd noticed his stance and thought it important, so he instantly dropped his arms to his sides. "Yeah, well you look foul, but you don't see me pointing it out," he retorted.

"I know," she agreed with a nod. As she was rounding the corner she tossed over her shoulder, "But you usually do."

_Damnit_. He slammed his fist into the stone wall.

That had been another slip.

.

.

.

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><p><em>Alright lads, don't be stingy; I need some feedback.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three_**

Hermione Granger could admit to herself that she was a vengeful person. She'd given a girl permanent acne for betraying the D.A., and in the heat of the moment she'd both punched Draco Malfoy in the face, and sent a flock of magical birds at Ronald Weasely.

Did she believe that Draco deserved to pay for all the horrible things he'd done to her and Harry over the years? She certainly did. But the desire to stay out of trouble, to keep her Head Girl position intact, prevented her from seeking outright revenge. Besides, he'd been nonviolent when they were alone. That didn't mean that she forgave him, but it did set a sort of standard by which they could treat one another.

It was several weeks after the incident where Draco had run into the common room looking as if he were afraid for his life. It had occurred to her that she could use this as a weapon against him, but natural curiosity won out at first, followed by a plan. It was obvious Malfoy was on edge, unstable even. She would find out why. Harry was convinced that the Head Boy was a Death Eater. Hermione wasn't convinced, but neither did she think it at all out of the realm of possibility.

It wasn't until after History of Magic one day that she the question was conclusively answered.

It was an aberration from her usual routine, but after Harry had mentioned something at the end the lesson, Hermione had immediately raced back to her rooms to review a text in her possession.

She'd heard Draco come in not too long after she had, spreading out in their common room and getting to work. It was his time, which meant she was stuck in her room until he left for supper. Well, she supposed it didn't much matter; she had all the materials she needed to do her homework with her.

Around six o'clock she felt the start of hunger pangs, but knew there was still an hour left until the evening meal. Putting it from her mind, she went back to her Charms essay. Or at least, she had intended to.

"I am!"

The sudden shout from the common room startled her, distracting Hermione from her homework and her hunger. It had to have been Draco, she'd recognise those angry cadences anywhere. But who was with him?

She went to her door and removed all the privacy wards and cast an eavesdropping charm (her own modification from one of the Weasley twins' inventions.)

Now she could hear more or less clearly the interaction in the common room, she recognised the other voice too, though she'd only heard it a few times in her whole life. Fierce anger cloaked in dripping distain... though Hermione was surprised that he would use the same tone on his own son as he did on a 'disgusting mudblood.'

"You must try _harder_!" Lucius hissed furiously.

"I am!" Draco repeated.

"Clearly not hard enough! I don't think you understand the importance of your assignment, Draco. The Dark Lord gave you this task and if you fail him, you fail us all."

"You failed us first!" Draco spat.

"And we were given a second chance, are you going to throw that away because you are too cowardly—"

"I'm not a coward!" Draco defended. "It will take time and planning. If someone could just walk up to Dumbledore and cast the killing curse, someone would have done it already."

Hermione gasped, quickly covering her mouth with a hand, though it was obvious that Draco and his father hadn't heard the small sound. Hermione's heart started hammering and she felt cold and shaky.

Draco was attempting to kill Dumbledore?

Harry was right. Even if he didn't have the mark of a Death Eater, he was certainly in their ranks, to be given such an assignment from Voldemort himself.

Hermione hated Draco Malfoy more in that moment than she had the rest of her years at Hogwarts combined. Every muttered 'mudblood', every taunt at Harry, every attempt to get them into trouble or sabotage her work, all of them combined paled in comparison to this monstrous new picture of him.

"You cannot us in this, Draco."

"I understand."

"No, you don't! If you fail, he will take Narcissa and punish us both, boy! Your mother's life is in your bumbling hands and you can't do anything but say you'll _try_. You listen, and you listen well. Son or no son, you fail in this and I _will_ kill you... if the Dark Lord doesn't beat me to it."

There was a pregnant silence before Draco burst out.

"I hate you! I don't want this!" A loud clatter accompanied by smaller crashes conjured the image of Draco overturning the table. "I don't want any of this! I never asked to be this!"

The profound lack of response proved that Malfoy Sr had already vacated the floo and that Draco was venting privately.

Rather, he _thought_ he was venting privately.

The next sound that followed was, if she wasn't mistaken, that of muffled sobbing.

She didn't dare confirm this by cracking open her door to peak. She couldn't risk getting caught.

Hermione finally removed her hand from in front of her mouth, wiping both clammy hands on her robes. She was still shaking, though not from suppressed rage.

She was in shock.

No, if she'd been in shock then her mind wouldn't be whirring at high-speed.

Draco Malfoy was still Draco Malfoy, but there were more complicating elements to him than she'd ever imagined. Hermione didn't delude herself, or give Draco any credit; just because he didn't want to murder Dumbledore didn't make him a good person. And, Hermione had to admit, being forced to try to do murder to save his mother didn't necessarily make him a bad person either. Just a boy desperately worried for his mother.

_Well that explains a few things..._

If he didn't want to do what Voldemort and his father demand of him, why hadn't he gone for help, Hermione wondered.

But whom did he have to turn to? Snape? No, Malfoy believed his head of house to be a faithful follower of Voldemort and would turn him in. Dumbledore? Perhaps, but how hard would it be to admit to a man that he had been trying to murder him?

Hermione thought that Draco could have approached her, but snorted. Preposterous. She was best friends with Harry, and had been Draco's solid enemy for seven years. Any time they weren't in their common room or in earshot of teachers they were at it hammer and tongs. She was the last person he'd approach for help.

Did he have any friends? Did Crabbe and Goyle know of his task? And if they did, would they tolerate his disobedience?

Unless Draco had acquaintances she'd never heard of, he didn't have anyone in whom he could truly confide.

Only moments ago she'd been so filled with hatred she could barely contain herself, now she was moved to pity. Yes, this was the hated Slytherin boy who'd been nothing but horrible to her and her friends, but even she could sympathise for him in his situation. It was obvious by his wretched sobbing (Hermione felt awkward hearing it) that he was horribly unhappy. Also clear was that this task had been thrust upon him, unwillingly. From what Hermione had gathered from the short interview, it had been somehow related to something Lucius had done, or failed to do, and now this responsibility had been thrust upon Draco. The consequence of failure meaning death of his mother...

What a rotten quagmire to be stuck in.

Immediately, Hermione's brain automatically began searching for solutions.

He could renounce Voldemort and accept protection of the Order... but then his mother would die.

He could attempt (and fail) to kill Dumbledore... but then his mother would die.

He could _actually_ kill Dumbledore...

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to entertain that idea longer than a second. She couldn't imagine Draco ever being capable of doing it. Dumbledore was too powerful and Draco didn't seem willing to do it in any case.

_But the Headmaster is dying all the same..._ a whisper in her thoughts reminded her.

"I don't know that for certain," she protested. She didn't want to think about a war without Dumbledore.

Draco was still sobbing in the other room, making Hermione squirm uncomfortably. She wished he'd stop. Eventually she went to lie down and covered her head with the pillow to block him out.

It was hours before Draco retreated to his bedroom and several more before Hermione deemed it safe enough to leave her own. She did so as quietly as she could, cursing her stomach for growling loudly as she crossed the common room.

If Draco heard he didn't come to investigate, though Hermione rather suspected he was asleep by now.

It was past midnight, but Hermione didn't meet with anyone on her way up to the Headmaster's office.

"Acid Pops," she told the gargoyle, who obligingly stepped aside, letting her ascend the staircase.

She could tell that the Dumbledore was awake, and what's more, had company. She could hear as much through the door. But she'd had enough eavesdropping for one day and before she could be accused of listening in at keyholes, knocked three times.

The voices quietened for a moment before Dumbledore bade, "Enter!"

She did so, though now that she there she grew nervous. Not nervous enough to lead her away from her purpose, however.

Professor Snape stood next to the fire place, his furrowed brow dominating his whole appearance.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted. "What brings the Head Girl here at such an hour?"

"I..." She swallowed, glancing again at the forbidding Professor Snape.

"Another time, Albus," said the Potion's master, making to leave.

"Don't go," she said hastily. Professor Snape stopped, turned, and eyed her with a curiosity that said 'if you don't make this worth my while, you'll regret it.'

"It's about Draco Malfoy," she explained. "I think you ought to hear this too, Professor," she told him.

Professor Snape crossed his arms over his chest but walked back to the centre of the room, waiting for her to continue.

Hermione took a deep breath and began.

"Professor Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy is attempting to kill you... sir."

Dumbledore didn't look at all disturbed by this news, but Snape's nostrils flared in annoyance.

"If all you are going to do is sling accusations..."

"It's not an accusation, it's a point of fact. Lucius Malfoy floo called and insisted that Draco not fail in his task to kill you, sir."

"I find it unlikely that any Slytherin would conduct such a conversation, knowing you were in earshot," Snape remarked, unimpressed.

"I'm never in at that time. We sort of arrange it so that we never actually run into each other in our common room. I usually never return before supper, giving him time there alone. Today was an exception. I wanted a book from my room and was reading when I heard."

"Thank you, Miss Granger, informing me," said the Headmaster serenely.

Hermione sighed. "You already knew," she said.

Smiling slightly, Dumbledore nodded. "I do have to ask, Miss Granger, whether Harry and Ron know as well."

Hermione heard an odd grating sound and realised it was the Potion's master grinding his teeth. She carefully took a step away from him.

"No sir. I stayed in my room until Draco went to bed and came directly here."

"I'll have to ask you not to inform them, Miss Granger. It will only make the situation worse."

She nodded, having already come to that conclusion herself.

"Very well. You may go, Miss Granger." The Headmaster gestured to the door, which promptly opened in expectation of her exit.

Hermione was momentarily confused.

"But, we... we have to help him, sir!" Hermione protested. Both Snape and Dumbledore eyed her speculatively at this and she struggled to explain. "He was crying for ages after his father left. He doesn't want to kill you, sir, but they will kill his mother if he fails." She turned to Professor Snape. "That's why I wanted you to stay. I thought you might... I don't know... but there must be something you can do."

Dumbledore smiled beatifically, then turned to Professor Snape, who looked ever more grim than usual.

Some message passed between the two men that escaped Hermione completely.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I really would appreciate reviews. Tell me what you think and what you'd like to read._


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